


Bet On It (Bet On Me)

by certifiedwitch



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AND ALSO SEX, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Post Movie, Pre-Slash, when this is complete it will have many more characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1590704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifiedwitch/pseuds/certifiedwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or, We're Gonna Need A Montage!</p>
<p>post CA:TWS movie, Bucky slowly sorts himself out. It takes a village.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bet On It (Bet On Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Is this a weepy silent movie? Is this a snarky makeover comedy? Is this named after a HSM2 song? All of the above.
> 
> A lot more of this fic is being written, but I wanted to put this bit up now. Tags will be updated as we go. Will eventually be slash, will eventually have the full ensemble. Promises, promises.
> 
> Currently unbetaed, sorry if there are any errors. Please forgive British spelling.

_“We would suffer continuous estrangement from ourselves if it weren’t for our memory of the things we have done, of the things that have happened to us. If it weren’t for the memory of ourselves.” A Model Childhood_  
  
(x)

He looks at the man in the photo – _Sergeant. James. Buchanan. Barnes._ – with the same face as his own, and doesn’t recognise himself. Doesn’t remember. Doesn’t remember anything – not a fragment, not a vague sensation. Nothing.

If he had discovered he had a twin, or a clone, and they had died, and this had been their life, it would have been less alienating. He keeps transmitting a message that will never get a reply – _are you there_ – not out into the cold unstirring of deep space, but into the cold unstirring of his unconscious mind. No one else was there. He was, only.

A clone. That made more sense, didn’t it? Hydra would have done that. Killed James Buchanan Barnes. Cloned James Buchanan Barnes. Found something useful to do with the clone. That was a reasonable possibility. He wasn’t the same man. They had the same face, but they weren’t the same person.

Except.

There is a second person preserved here. And this one, he recognises. Captain Steve Rogers – _Captain America_ – can’t be regarded as clinically as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, because he remembers him. He can’t help but remember him. He remembers only him. He doesn’t know how to – he can’t – he couldn’t explain, couldn’t translate the rush of emotion and colour and unconnected, fleeting pieces of knowledge he has about this man, that are welling up inside him entirely unbidden, he can’t fashion the sheer overwhelming rush of it into anything like the cool, ordered facts printed on the walls of the exhibit. He’s surrounded by Steve Rogers on every side, ordered and educational, and inside his head, it’s vibrant and intractable and unending. It’s a whirlpool, and he might yet drown in it.

When he looks at Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, and thinks, _Bucky_ , he’s remembering the name said in Steve’s voice, last month, not echoing through the decades. There’s nothing else. “Bucky”, he thinks vaguely, is a silly name. The name of a child. The name of a child, picked by another child. _Bucky_ , Steve’s voice echoes again. Not insistently. Not even persuasively. It’s definitive. _Bucky._

As he continues staring at the picture, he turns his head a little. It isn’t a mirror. It doesn’t move.

It isn’t him.

He leaves the exhibit. He knows he’ll come back, tomorrow or perhaps the next day. He turns his back on James Buchanan Barnes, but he carries Steve Rogers with him.

(x)

It’s not hard to avoid the Captain now there’s no one watching and analysing surveillance footage, passing on his every movement. He doesn’t have to do anything complicated. Just stay unpredictable. Don’t fall into any particular pattern. That’s easy, when you don’t have any agenda, any pursuits, any pressing needs. When you can decide what to do at any given moment and begin doing it immediately. It’s easy to be unpredictable when you can be truly spontaneous.

He doesn’t have a mission anymore. Not a mission he’s at all interested in completing. He doesn’t have any superiors. There is no extraction plan. He is free. He is aimless. He has no aim.

He has a fairly large amount of cash. He isn’t proud of how he came by it, but it doesn’t make him feel bad. It doesn’t make him feel anything. He needed money. He acquired money. Objective completed. Next objective.

There are no more objectives.

There are other objectives. He needs – wants – needs – wants – seeks food, irritatingly regularly. He has enough cash for that. He seeks space, distance from other people and their disturbances. They are meaningless, unimportant, irritating, frightening. He stole a hooded sweatshirt that had been placed on the grass in the park by a person who had turned their back. He doesn’t feel bad about that. He had need of it. Metal arm sufficiently hidden, he could buy other items. Unimportant, unimportant, unimportant – important. He wanted – needed – required – indulged – sought to acquire them. Adequate tools to achieve his objective.

There are no more objectives.

Objective – survive. Objective – observe. Objective – understand.

The Captain is trying to find him. If he doubles back on his previous movements a day or two later, he can sometimes observe the Captain. The Captain jogs. The Captain carries groceries in brown paper bags. The Captain wants to find him. The Captain goes to the Smithsonian museum. He follows him. He watches the Captain stare at his face. The Captain sees something different in that picture. The Captain is recognised by small children and star struck adolescents and embarrassed adults. The Captain smiles for them, briefly. The Captain stares at the face of James Buchanan Barnes for long stretches of time. The Captain turns away from it and turns back to it.

He watches Steve Rogers when he can – when he wants to – when it’s correct to – when he wants to – when it fits with the mission protocol – _when he wants to_ – when he can. There is no mission. There is no mission protocol. There is a mission. The Captain is his mission. It is important. His mission is to observe the Captain and learn about him. There is no mission. There are no orders. It is not important. It is what he wants. That is not important. That is all there is. That is important. He is important. He is not a mission. He is not an asset.

This is his mission. _His_ mission – he has planned it and assigned it to himself, it is his mission. He has given himself a mission, therefore he has a mission. This is his mission. To gain information. To re-evaluate the situation. To continue to achieve all objectives.

There are no more objectives.

He watches Steve Rogers, because he wants to, and because he can, and because it is easier to spin as a mission than not watching Steve Rogers.

When he allows himself to sleep, almost every 20 hours now – an indulgence – essential maintenance to retain optimum performance of the mission – he can think about Steve Rogers, what he learnt about Steve Rogers, what he knows about Steve Rogers, all of it, every fragment repeating and swirling around his mind in a feedback loop, Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers

_Steve Rogers_

and evaluate it, use the information to better complete the mission. These are the steps he took today. This is the progress he has made. This is what he will do tomorrow.

Sleep, his mind has decided without consultation, is no reason to stop working on the mission.

He wakes shockingly refreshed. He makes a note to inform his handlers that he has discovered a performance enhancing technique. There are no more handlers. There is no performance testing and review. There are no more objectives.

There is only his mission.

(x)

He follows the Captain home.

He does it in stages. The Captain is highly skilled. He is capable of detecting a tail.

He doesn’t want Steve Rogers to be aware that he is being observed, because if he were, he might change his pattern of behaviour. He wants to observe Steve Rogers behaving naturally. For the mission. He must. It is required. He requires it, it is required, it must be done, he does it. Objective completed.

He follows Steve Rogers home. To a neighbourhood one week. The next week, to a 5 block radius. The next day, to an individual building. He watches. He learns.

For days, he watches the door. He watches Steve Rogers leave in the morning, and return, and leave again. Steve Rogers is slightly predictable, but not entirely. He has a routine but he is not routinised. He is comfortable deviating at short notice – the Captain receives a phone call and integrates the new information into his plan of action. The Captain is skilled.

The Captain runs most mornings and evenings. He knows that the Captain does not require this level of regular physical exertion to maintain his level of physical ability. The Captain runs for a reason which is not physical training.

He wonders what that reason is.

He wonders this as he observes Steve Rogers coming and going, and coming, and going, and coming and going and coming and going from his home. His routine becomes more predictable when he has received no new information about the whereabouts of

him.

There are no new sightings because he has been here for days now. He has now learnt enough about the Captain’s patterns of behaviour. But he lingers.

On some occasions, Steve Rogers’ house is visited by other people. There is the man that had tried to prevent his mission, the one who had worn mechanical wings, whom he had torn out of the sky. His name is Sam Wilson. He likes Sam Wilson, distantly, because Sam Wilson pleases Steve Rogers. Sam Wilson is not a threat. Sam Wilson is a feature.

Other times, there is a woman. She has red hair. He does not know enough from his observations to draw a conclusion about her. She is not a threat to Steve Rogers. She does not displease Steve Rogers.

She does not displease Steve Rogers. Sam Wilson pleases Steve Rogers.

He pleases Steve Rogers.

_Incorrect_. James Buchanan Barnes pleases Steve Rogers. He is not James Buchanan Barnes. He does not please Steve Rogers.

Incorrect. Incorrect. Incorrect. Go to. Correct, correct, correct.

He does not please Steve Rogers. He must correct.

Objective received. Objective rejected. Objective to be reassessed. New objective: assess next objective. Devise strategy. Carry out strategy. Achieve objective.

There are no more objectives.

There must be more objectives.

He will continue with his current mission until it is complete or until he has a new mission.

It is not complicated. It is not difficult. He has been doing it entirely adequately. He will continue to do so.

He does.

(x)

The mission has stalled.

For days, he has gathered no new information. He observes, but he does not understand.

He must not fail in the mission. He cannot fail in the mission. There will be no others. This is the last. This is the only. This is everything.

He must go further.

He enters the house. Steve Rogers is absent. The Captain had gone out running, returned, and left again. The Captain will not be back for at least an hour. He doesn’t have to worry about leaving fingerprints.

Inside the decor is unremarkable. He treads softly. The kitchen is tidy. The pantry is full. On the coffee table in the living room is a paperback novel and a

_sketchpad_

which triggers a rush so intense he feels dizzy, the floor and the wall switching places. He doesn’t fall, his body doesn’t sway, his knees don’t buckle: he has been trained. He raises a hand, his flesh hand, to his face, as he rides out the sensation, memories demanding his attention yet refusing to coalesce into anything he can grasp, retain, explain. He gasps, once.

He turns away and immediately he comes face to face with himself. On the wall next to the door, Steve Rogers has put up a map and on top of that, multiple pictures of him, black and white photos of James Buchanan Barnes and grainy surveillance snap shots of the Winter Soldier, and between and around them are multiple annotations, linked together with differently coloured ribbons.

He takes a step back. He knocks into the coffee table. He ignores it.

He doesn’t like seeing this. It is his face on the wall, but he feels that he is intruding. He feels hot. He has the urge to leave. He stays still. He scans his eyes over ever photo, every note, but at the back of his mind he knows that he is not adequately retaining the information. He will find it difficult to properly adjust in light of this if he does not have perfect recall of what the Captain has put together, but there is no space in his head, it is so full of Steve Rogers, there is no space in this room, no air in his lungs, no air in this house –

He has gleaned all the information he can. He will gain nothing more by staying. Objective completed. Next objective.

As he walks to the front door, his stride is purposeful, steady, less soft than upon entry.

Steve Rogers is all he can think about.

Steve Rogers is all he can see in his mind’s eye.

Steve Rogers is all he can see in his field of vision.

Opening the door, he has come face to face with Steve Rogers, who has a hand outstretched for the door handle, they look right at each other, there is less than a foot of space between them, they are making eye contact

Eye contact is appalling.

System overload.

He shuts down.

(x)

He wakes up all at once; his body is tense and defensive before his vision has completely focussed on the other person in the room.

Steve Rogers is here. Steve Rogers is sitting in a chair across the room. Steve Rogers is staring at him.

He can’t read the expression on Steve Rogers’ face.

He is crouched, tense and ready to spring, on top of a made up bed. A blanket is puddled on his lap.

A cool breeze ruffles his hair across his face. He can’t maintain eye contact behind it. He doesn’t want to. He breathes.

“The window is open,” Steve Rogers says gently. “I’m not going to try to trap you if you want to leave. But I want to help. I want to help you, Bucky.”

Steve Rogers is terrifyingly disarming.

He can’t – mustn’t – shouldn’t – can’t trust the wave of comfort the Captain exudes. It is one of the Captain’s most dangerous weapons. He must – should – can’t resist it.

“I’m. I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Steve Rogers continues haltingly. “Bucky. I. _Please._ Please stay here.”

He watches Steve Rogers through the hair still hanging in front of his face. He has nothing to say, so he says nothing. The silence stretches between them, drawn out too long before Steve nods and stands up; pauses once more, then turns his back and leaves the room.

He jumps out of the window immediately.

He lands silently.

He runs.

He can hear two glasses smashing, one after another, from across the street.

(x)

Has he made an error?

Correct.

(x)

He stares at the buzzer, and does not press it. He should press the buzzer. He doesn’t want to press the buzzer. Pressing the buzzer is the correct course of action. He doesn’t want to press the buzzer. Objective: press the buzzer. Objective rejected. Objective: find alternative to pressing the buzzer.

He stands on the porch, motionless apart from his breathing, for almost an hour, deadlocked.

Finally in one abrupt motion he brings his metal hand up and slams the buzzer so hard that it can sound only briefly before cutting off. Little shards of plastic and trails of wire litter the threshold sadly, and he hates them, sullen.

He will not press the buzzer a second time.

Steve Rogers opens the door. The hand the Captain raises to casually lean against the doorframe grips the wood so tightly it cracks.

“Bucky,” he exhales, like a sigh, like he’d been holding his breath the last couple of days. “You came back.”

Evidently. “I want to come in,” he says.

“Yes, of course, please,” Steve replies. He steps back, smiling encouragingly. It should be nauseating. He steps forward, inside, and feels satisfied. Objective achieved.

“Are you staying?” Steve Rogers asks.

Nothing is certain. “I don’t know.”

“OK, that’s OK,” Steve says, more to himself than to his guest. “What would you like? Food? To talk? To rest?”

“I don’t know.”

Steve’s face shouldn’t have been able to soften any further, but it does. It should have no impact on his own emotional responses, but it does.

“Bucky,” Steve says, so softly, “ _anything_ , you can have anything. We’ll figure this out together. OK?”

There is nothing to say. Nothing is OK.

He nods, once; the motion is jerky, unpracticed. When did he last give his consent?

Steve Rogers beams, and he feels warm. Steve Rogers is pleased. That is good.

Objective achieved.


End file.
